


Tremors

by havetardiswilltimetravel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, Sherlock's scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetardiswilltimetravel/pseuds/havetardiswilltimetravel
Summary: John comes home early and discovers what Sherlock had never wanted him to see.





	1. Chapter 1

This fic is based off of my photo manipulation, found below and on tumblr [here](http://havetardiswilltimetravel.tumblr.com/post/155179124764/).


	2. Chapter 2

The music was slow and sad, the notes haunting, almost desperate in their tremors, and John had to pause on the stairs from the force of it. He’d half-expected Sherlock to be awake when he’d returned, despite the awful hour - the detective had been sleeping even less than he had before his return, and John knew it was foolish to hope for anything different - but he hadn’t been expecting the violin. John hadn’t heard Sherlock play since before he had moved back to 221B. It was startling. It was worrying.

After a moment, John exhaled and continued up the stairs, hefting the small duffle he’d brought to Harry’s that weekend up so it wouldn’t drag on the floor. He didn’t know what had brought it on, but the melancholy tones didn’t bode well. He prepared himself for one of Sherlock’s dark moods, for their normal avoidant back and forth, for the mulish glares he would get if he pushed, for the deductions that were sure to come from his early arrival home.

Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when he reached their door.

Scars littered Sherlock’s back. Lashes. Burns. Lacerations. Deep-seated and blatant and white, carved into Sherlock’s skin where they had no right to be.

John couldn’t breathe. His bag fell to the floor with a soft thump, and the violin cut off with a screech. Sherlock spun to face him, eyes wide. They grew panicked as they met John’s.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What are…You…You’re…” John couldn’t seem to finish a sentence, shell-shocked and unable to process. “Why…”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sherlock repeated, the tremor that had been so present in his music seeming to transfer to his voice.

“I came back early…” John replied, hand going to the door frame for support.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, eyes flitting to his room before quickly sweeping over John’s form, looking for a weakness to exploit. “Did Harry start drinking again? Oh, of course she did. She didn’t even wait until you were gone, did she? At least in the past she waited until you were on the train home to break her promises.”

Sherlock’s words were quick and sharp, deducing John, his weekend, Harry, the lot, and not allowing for a word in between, all the while sidling slowly towards the kitchen, towards his room, towards safety. But if his deductions were meant to distract John, they failed. Instead, they allowed him to focus.

John caught Sherlock’s wrist just as he was about to make a break for his room. He swallowed, feeling the telltale abrasions there, too.

“Sherlock…”

His name was said so softly, with such care…it made him ache inside, and he had to close his eyes against it.

“Please let me go, John…” Sherlock tried, his voice even but for the smallest tremor, refusing to call it pleading despite the facts.

“You’ll run.”

“It’s my right to.”

“You’ll run,” John said again, raw emotion showing through. “And we’ll never talk about it.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be talked about.”

John shook his head. “Let me in.” John pleaded. “Please don’t shut me out. If you go in that room, you will shut me out.”

Sherlock swallowed, eyes opening to look at his door, so close and yet so far away.

“You won’t want to know.”

“I will.”

“I never wanted you to know.”

There was a beat, and then Sherlock felt John’s palm cupping his cheek, tilting his head until his eyes met John’s. What he saw there was overwhelming, too much to process. It was bright and accepting and real and burning and it took his breath away, all of it.

His eyes burned, and he blinked back against the sudden onslaught of emotion.

“Please…” John’s voice was thick, and Sherlock could read everything in it.

“Yes…” Sherlock swallowed after a moment, turning his wrist in John’s hand until their fingers were threaded together. “…yes, alright…”

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of my photo manip, found on tumblr here: http://havetardiswilltimetravel.tumblr.com/post/155179124764/


End file.
